


Day Four: Home

by PixieFrosch



Series: Stingue Week 2015 [3]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Fluff, Home, M/M, Stingue Week 2015, canonverse, random drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:53:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5243900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixieFrosch/pseuds/PixieFrosch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sting and Rogue are making their way across the country when Sting comes to a realisation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Four: Home

**Author's Note:**

> Late again, I know! I'm sorry... But I've finally uploaded it, so here we are! Stingue week day four! I hope you like it :)

Sting sighed sleepily. He and Rogue had been travelling for days through the woods to the west of Crocus, and down dirt tracks for several days before that, too. It wasn’t actually all that far from the mountain-skirted town where the Sabertooth guild hall stood; in fact, it was probably only a day or two by train, but the two Dragon Slayers could hardly follow the train tracks, much as it would be quicker to do so.

Taking the train was out of the question, too. Sting was barely even able to survive the motion sickness he got when Orga started singing and the guildhall shook, and Rogue was even worse than he was. There was no chance. So instead of taking the train, or even a magic four-wheeler (the thought alone was making Sting queasy), they had opted to walk to the annual guild master’s meeting, setting off two full weeks before they had needed to be there.

Rogue was coming with him to provide company and help deal with the stress – they’d left the guild in the capable hands of Yukino, Rufus and Minerva; who would make sure that everything was well looked-after, well organized, and well-disciplined respectively. Of course, both Sting and Rogue going away meant that Lector and Frosch had to come along, too, Lector padding along at Sting’s heels, and Frosch settled on Rogue’s head. The poor little frog-suited cat exceed had tripped over far too many roots and rocks too count, and Rogue had felt it was safer for her (and his sanity) this way.

They’d spent most of their nights camping out in the open, as a lot of the towns were several days walk apart, and they couldn’t afford to lose any travelling time by stopping earlier than they needed. They’d been sleeping at the side of the road, or in the shelter of a particularly large tree, anywhere, really, so long as it was (relatively) clean and dry.

There wasn’t far left to go on the journey by the time the Twin Dragons stopped to rest on the ninth night of their trek, setting up camp in a small clearing not far from the city-side edge of the woods. They unpacked their sleeping bags wordlessly, not needing to speak to coordinate their movements – they’d worked together too closely and for too long now not to be able to read the body language of the other, to see the small movements that their partner made and know exactly what they were doing and when.

Sting sighed again as they laid down for the night in the greenery, he and Rogue in one sleeping bag, Lector and Frosch in the other, the two little exceeds cuddling adorably. The clearing was more comfortable than the last place they’d slept – an old abandoned barn which smelt faintly like manure and which Sting was sure had been certain was infested with rats (it had been raining that night, otherwise they’d have slept outside) – but still nowhere near as comfortable as the bed they shared back home.

Sting’s heightened Dragon Slayer senses made him so much more aware of things that usually wouldn’t bother him: The sound of crickets chirping, the faint rush of water from a nearby stream, the small pinpricks of light from the distant capital. He’d struggled to sleep occasionally, but he ignored the feeling of frustration that came with his tiredness in favour of turning over to face his partner.

The longer Sting lay there, staring at Rogue’s face, eyes tracing the soft crease in his forehead, the soft shadow of his eyelashes, the scar across the bridge of his nose and the content curve of his mouth, the more relaxed he became. Sting was almost certain that Rogue knew he was being watched, but the darker haired slayer still stayed where he was, eyes closed and one arm wrapped around his boyfriend’s waist.

The soft sigh of Rogue’s breathing and the steady beat of his heart began to soothe Sting to sleep and he came to the conclusion that it really didn’t matter where he was, or how noisy their surroundings were, or how uncomfortable the ground felt.

Because wherever Rogue was, that was Sting’s home.


End file.
